


One More Chance X

by DancingHare



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 17:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13440123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingHare/pseuds/DancingHare
Summary: Unpleasant memories of Bloodmyst Isle.





	One More Chance X

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published July 10, 2008

_The first thing she was aware of was the red. The sky, the ground, even the trees were red. Blearily, she took in her surroundings, trying to remember where she was. Her leg ached, and she looked down to see it was hastily bandaged, but she didn’t remember doing that. There were poles behind her, lashed into a grid. No, not a grid — a cage. Alarm seized her as she understood this; the enclosure was a cube, perhaps six feet in each direction, not even large enough for her to outstretch fully. Even if she could have stretched, a thick leather strap bound her heels. Now she remembered, the blood elf camp she’d come across — how long ago had it been? It was impossible to say, but she guessed no more than one night._

She shifted to sit up, her muscles voicing their complaint. Her captors had been kind enough to remove the binds on her wrists, at least, so she could hobble to the edge of the cage. But still, she thought, they’d notice her missing and send a search party, wouldn’t they? It was then she saw the other cage, a short distance behind her and to the right. There were more cages, several that she could see, and perhaps more hidden on the other side of the camp. If there were other cages, perhaps there were others being held here, they could help each other to get out.

An elf sat a short distance away, presumably a guard, but his attention was elsewhere. Vassanta moved to the back corner, still watching him warily. She cupped her hand to her mouth, speaking in their native language, scarcely above a whisper. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

She held completely still, her head cocked to listen, feeling her heart thumping in her chest. There was no answer, and she slumped back against the wall of her cage with a sigh. Then — as faint as a breeze, she heard something. Not words, exactly, but a voice all the same, calling weakly from one of the cages. Whoever it was, they sounded wounded, and more seriously than she was. She had to find a way to get out and help them. Glancing again toward the guard, she ran a hand along the cage’s wall. They had been built of thin poles, and lashed together with rope; sturdy but certainly not impossible — if only she could find a way to weaken the lashings.

The guard flicked an ear, and stood up as another elf approached the clearing. They conversed briefly in their language, and Vassanta remembered the dark-haired one as the one she’d fought right before her capture. She couldn’t be certain, but from his bearing and the way the others spoke to him, he appeared to be the leader. She was struck again by just how small they were, but obviously they were strong in spite of their frail build, as she had learned well.

The captain stepped over toward the cages, looking each over in turn. She didn’t like the way he looked at her, and she liked that cruel smirking manner of his even less. She snorted, struggling against her bindings. How she wanted to wipe that gloating expression from his face! He laughed harshly, tapping the roof of her cage with his sword, but he moved on. She trembled, anxious for the chance to fight him. She wouldn’t underestimate him this time. But the black-haired captain had moved on to another cage, and he now ordered his two accomplices to open it. She did not want to see what they would do, but curiosity overwhelmed her, and Vassanta crouched at the edge of her cage to watch.

The draenei man was barely able to stand, his hocks trembling as he sought to balance himself, and he cried out hoarsely in the Common language. “Please… no more.” Horror dawned on her as she recognized him; he had disappeared from the outpost some weeks ago. He was older and not particularly athletic, it was assumed that he had been killed by one of the maddened local creatures. No one had ever suspected that a fate like this awaited him. It also meant that no one would come looking for her, Vassanta reasoned, her hands closing tighter around the wooden bars. She’d have to do this on her own, or rally the other captives. But the man before her was in no condition to fight, in fact he did not look as if he should be alive at all. He was thin and weak, his hooves and horns badly cracked, his eyes dull and distant. Worst of all, his skin was drawn tightly over his bones like a dessicated carcass left out in the sun. She did not want to look at him, and she felt guilty for her revulsion. It wasn’t the man’s fault, the elves had done this to him.

They descended on him like red vultures, but they did not kill him. No, she realized after a moment, they were feeding on him — or rather, his mana, the air crackling with arcane energy as they drew it out of him. He cried out in agony, crumpling to the ground where he lay, trembling. The elves circled, licking their jaws hungrily like wild beasts, but their leader held them back with a look. He gestured roughly toward the cage again, and they dragged the draenei back in, the door rattling noisily as they latched it. Vassanta felt the bile rise in her throat, but willed it back down, squinting her eyes closed tightly. They should have killed him, at least it would have been more merciful. Now she understood why they had not killed her, or the others. They were keeping them alive, like livestock to be harvested. It would explain this group’s unusual strength and vigor, too. With their own steady diet of mana, the elves would be freed of the crippling pain of their addiction. Who knew how long that man had suffered, how long he would suffer still.

They drew out two more, the first a young male who must once have been intimidating in his size and power, now reduced to a hopeless husk. And the second, a girl hardly more than a child, who must have been captured more recently, as she looked comparatively healthy beside the other two. Vassanta growled, pushing against the walls of her cage with her hooves. She wouldn’t stand for this, if not for herself, she had to help the others. She had very little of the Light’s power within her, when the elves tried to feed from her they would soon learn that she had little to offer, and they’d surely waste no more time keeping her alive. But the poles held fast, creaking a little under the pressure, but not moving.

The days were easy to count on this world with its single sun, the cold, dark nights dividing the time. It was only two before they came for Vassanta. Her stomach felt like a pit in her belly, having been fed nothing but a few scraps in these past days. The elves gave them water, of course, but it was warm and tasted off — still she drank it down greedily as certainly as the others must have. They hadn’t come to look at the wound on her thigh, and it ached dully, and she thought it might become infected. She had no time to ask, however, as the captain stood before her cage today, appraising her with cold green eyes. This would be her chance, Vassanta realized, she had to strike when the cage was opened. She crouched in the corner, awaiting the click of the latch. The elf made a gesture, and the two guards stepped forward, working at the locking device. She tried to see how it worked, but it was difficult to get a good view with the poles in the way, and she could not be too obvious in her intent. One of them, the red-haired one, seized her hand and hauled her out into the clearing. She stumbled, still hobbled by the leather strap that prevented her from kicking.

Vassanta cursed inwardly for letting the opportunity pass. Yet both guards were stronger than their appearance suggested, and even if she did get free now, there would be the captain to deal with. She knew that restrained, weapon-less, and starving, she stood no chance against all three of them. She fell to her knees on the ground, staring straight ahead as her mind raced to find a plan. She wouldn’t have much time, they were closing in now, a wolf pack around a hapless stag.

The sensation was unlike anything she had felt before, a sort of probing and drawing out of energy; but unlike most of her kin, Vassanta had very little magic for the elves to devour. As she had guessed, they were angry, the white-haired guard shoving her roughly down with his boot as he turned to confer noisily with the others. They tried again and again to feed from her, but she had nothing to give. They were bickering, it sounded like, no doubt arguing over how to kill her. Vassanta’s eyes darted over the clearing, hoping there might be something in reach she could use as a weapon. She heard the captain speak again, a finality in his tone. The others seemed unhappy, but they bowed stiffly and left, presumably toward a different cage. They were alone now, she and the captain.

He slunk toward her with a predator’s swagger, a grin twisting onto his lips. Maybe she would have a chance to fight him, Vassanta thought, and the odds were certainly more favorable now. If she could somehow get his sword… He grasped her wrists, turning her arms behind her back. So much for that idea, Vassanta thought, trying to squirm free of his grasp. He spoke in the Common tongue, which sounded foreign to her ears for a moment. “Well well, little demon,” he rumbled, his fel green eyes roaming over her, “It seems you have no magic for me. We’ll just have to work out another arrangement.” His knife flashed in the sunlight, slicing the ties on her armor with a swift flick of his wrist, and she understood the elf’s reason for keeping her alive. Perhaps he’d known it since he first caught her, and was only biding his time.

After he was finished, he threw her roughly back into the cage. “I’ll be back for you later,” the captain said, with a leering smile that made her stomach turn all over again. She waited until he had walked away before she crawled to the corner and vomited, her stomach was empty but it made her feel better, a little. The pain was not the worst of it, though it hurt no matter how she sat; the worst was the feeling of helplessness. She was a fighter, trained to hunt and to kill, and now she was the weakened prey, for her enemy to do with as he pleased. She wondered if any of the others had seen her, and felt an odd flush of embarrassment. Why would they care? They had their own troubles to deal with.

The captain kept his word. He called on her often in the next few days, but eventually settled into a routine. Beside the steady passage of the sun into night, Vassanta could keep time by the captain’s urges. She wasn’t sure how many days had passed, she had no way to count them, but two of the other captives died. The older man, and another she hadn’t seen before. The elves buried them hastily on the other slope of the hillside, where animals were sure to disturb their resting place. Vassanta prayed for their souls to join the naaru, though she wasn’t certain that it would help. She felt beyond their sight here, or surely they would have intervened.

But no new captives arrived, and Vassanta sensed a shift in the camp’s morale as the days wore on. She hoped it meant that the outpost was sending out Vindicators to drive the elves back and — perhaps — rescue her. At the very least, her sister would have noticed her missing. She couldn’t die here, not yet, before she had the chance to fight in her homeland’s name.

Her leg was getting worse, for certain. The captain never seemed to notice it, but Vassanta could feel the heat of infection climbing up into her veins. If it wasn’t treated soon, she would certainly die. Beyond that, though, it gave her a glimmer of hope. She would only have to wait until the right guard was on duty. She would not have to wait long for her chance. The one she had chosen was young, and seemed lower in rank than the others. A beginner, perhaps.

She called out to him, her voice harsh from disuse. “Sir, I need help,” she cried, her hands clutching the poles of her cage. “My leg… it’s wounded.” She searched for the right word in Common. “Infected.”

The elf raised a slender brow and frowned, looking around for reassurance. But there were no others here, Vassanta had planned ahead. He raised his hands and shrugged.

She took a deep breath, willing herself to have patience. “Bandage,” she said, pointing toward one of the tents. He hesitated, but walked over into the tent. Vassanta leaned back against the cage, her heart thumping.

The guard returned, carrying a few bandages and looking rather bewildered by what to do with them. Vassanta stretched her wounded leg toward him, as evidence, and tried to look as meek and accomodating as possible. She felt her breathing stop as he unlocked the cage, pulling the door open. So close… but not yet. The elf crouched beside her, laying the bandages on the ground as he leaned in to inspect her leg.

Now. Vassanta seized one of the strips of cloth from the ground, looping it over the elf’s head and pulling it toward her as hard as she was able. He uttered a choked cry of surprise, and she clapped a hand over his mouth. She tied the bandage taut to one of the cage’s poles and patted the elf’s sides until she found his dagger. Hands shaking, she sawed through the strap that bound her heels, wincing in pain at the bleeding there. The elf clutched at the bandage as the air left his lungs, and Vassanta grabbed his sword from its scabbard, rushing out into the clearing.

No — she had to hide, she realized, ducking back into the bushes. She didn’t have much time, they would notice the open door of her cage as soon as one of them returned. But she had to free the others, or at least try. She hadn’t thought to look for keys on the guard, he probably didn’t have them anyway. But the dagger could cut the ropes quickly enough, and she moved among the cages, sawing at the rough bindings. Most of the draenei were too weak to run, but the gratitude in their eyes was enough. Go to the Light, she whispered to them.

The others were returning. They shouted as they saw the cages standing open, unsheathing their weapons and scattering into the trees, hunting for the escaped prisoners. Vassanta edged along the crest of the hill, trying to run but limping on her wounded leg and sore heels. She skidded down the slope, too late to avoid the guard who had stepped into her path. She hadn’t come this far to be captured again now, and this time she had a weapon. With the advantage of surprise, she was able to strike him quickly, but his cries drew another guard. Vassanta whirled on him, this one was much more heavily armored, and looked stronger. He was smarter too, aiming for Vassanta’s wounded leg as she realized a moment too late what he was doing. She went down hard on her back in the leaf litter, her breath leaving her chest with a gasp. He grinned wickedly, stepping closer, his sword raised above his head. He swung, and Vassanta rolled sideways, into a crouch. She sprang toward him, bracing for the impact, hearing a sharp snap as she connected and knocked the elf off his feet. Her head throbbed, but she didn’t notice it, driving the blade into the elf’s throat.

She ran at an irregular trot, splashing down the blood-red river, figuring it would make tracking her more difficult. They were not far behind her, she could hear their angry calls and what was certainly cursing in their own language. Wincing, she scrambled up onto a rock outcropping, where she could get a better view of the land. Though her leg seared with pain, she did not stop running until she reached the coast, collapsing in the dark sand, clutching her sides. The outpost would be nearby, to the west. She could follow the coast there, and they would chase her no further than that.

_She had escaped, and she was alive. The others hadn’t been so lucky, and guilt clutched her heart. She’d done all she could, but it hadn’t been enough. She would pray for their souls, hoping that they would find the Light, and one day, when she was stronger, she would make amends for their suffering._


End file.
